


the gift of ordinary magic

by mystarsandmyocean



Category: Six of Crows Series - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Gen, Heist, Inspired by The Gift of the Magi - O. Henry, Past Sexual Abuse, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Relationship Discussions, The Gang is (almost) All Back Together, Yuletide 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-21 20:03:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17049689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mystarsandmyocean/pseuds/mystarsandmyocean
Summary: He’s not leaving pigeons at her bedside, but this comes pretty damn close.or: a courtship by Kaz Brekker.





	the gift of ordinary magic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [caphairdadbeard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/caphairdadbeard/gifts).



> Dear caphairdadbeard! 
> 
> I felt, as this was a Six of Crows fic, that a heist was the only appropriate means for Kaz & Inej to show each other affection and deal with their feelings. In the spirit of the holiday season, here is my twisted thief's take on Gift of the Magi. Happy Yuletide!
> 
> xoxo

***

 

The letter arrived unaddressed, unsigned, unfinished.

 

_ Not unfinished, _ Inej amended. Unemotional. Unattached. Months, she’d waited for this sign, the carrion call of home, and now that it was here, she couldn’t help but long for a greater indicator that Kaz had continued to change. He'd shown her the man beneath his armor; she would not relent now.  

 

Yet the envelope had arrived unsullied, the parchment unmarked except for the crow black wax and stark prose. Only Kaz, she almost laughed, could forbid dirt and dust from touching his words. 

 

> **_I need your help_ **

  
  


When she’d left Ketterdam, brimming with hope, a renewed faith had taken hold of her, only growing in the months since. With each liberated ship, each unshackled slave, Inej had felt her own soul breaking free of Tante Heleen’s shadow. She would never again be that Suli girl, longing only for the past, whose arrows had always sought an impossible, backward direction, but she had a new aim now. 

 

And with each day, her conviction and strength grew. 

 

With Kaz’s bare fingers entwined with hers, she’d known he was capable of the same change. She could not heal him, she knew, nor would she dare try, but she would stand at his side as he worked. She could help him, as she had once promised, their vow, their oath, sworn in kruge then blood, and in the dawn of her new journey, she had agreed to come back. 

 

To keep that promise, she'd prepared her crew to function independently, in the Suli way, creating an operation strong enough to stand without the spine of any one person. Anatevka had taken over her responsibilities amongst the crew; Specht had proven time and time again a stalwart captain. Though they were more serious companions than Nina and Jesper, less daring compatriots than Kaz and Wylan, they were a brave and loyal crew.

 

She could not compare them to Matthias. The dead ought not hold form amongst the living. At the thought of Nina, her heart tugged north. She missed her friend.  

 

She missed them all. She missed  _ home _ . 

 

“Make way for port!” Inej announced, swinging round to her crew. They didn’t question which—the nearest would do—nor follow her upon arrival. Inej lept to the docks once they touched down in Os Kervo and heard Specht call for an hour’s leave for the crew, lest they be left behind on “that cursed rock.” 

 

He wouldn’t leave them, of course, not if he didn’t want to answer to Inej’s Saints. Or Kaz. She’d been surprised at first to find the legend of Dirtyhands had spread across the sea—but gladly took advantage when she learned tales of the Wraith had as well. Inej wondered if there was a Ravkan pirate— _ privateer _ —to thank for that. 

 

“What do you think you’re doing, girl?” the captain of a merchant ship barked once she drew near. She flipped a gold kruge between her fingers and began negotiations, pushing away thoughts of Specht and Wraiths, legends and her crew.

 

They would continue on their route without her, she trusted, familiar as a Suli caravan. She’d find them again, when she wished.  _ You didn't,  _ a wary voice inside her reminded,  _ promise to stay.  _

 

They knew what they’re doing.

 

Soon, she would be able to say the same. 

 

***

 

“Surely you can concede your setup is unconventional.” 

 

Karl Dryden’s voice strained over every word, his facial muscles twitching in either fear or annoyance. He gesticulated at the open window, through which blew a salty breeze, as if the tumult of tourists, merchers, and gang members below, all maneuvering each other through Fifth Harbor like chess pieces, explained his point. 

 

When Kaz only maintained his glare, Dryden, eyeing his cane with growing horror, snapped his arm back to his side. Tempting as it was, Kaz had more important plans in place than crushing the upstart merchant’s forearm.  

 

“My businesses earn a profit,” Kaz finally replied, sounding as if his interest were waning. Dryden was the small fish, only an inconsequential step of many. “Unless you have evidence—which I presume you do not—that they’re not above board, anything else doesn't concern you.” 

 

Dryden flushed. “Yes, well, your  _ businesses _ now outearn a significant number of—well, they garner a significant profit, to be sure.” 

 

Kaz only raised an eyebrow this time, his smile cruel and cutting. He had Dryden on the hook; he only had to reel him in. 

 

Standing on the dock with Inej, her laughter still hovering in the wind, he'd known he couldn't be a good man—not with his bloody hands, the disdain built from years of gulling pigeons and the ease with which he slit his enemy’s throats—but he'd resolved to be hers and all that meant. He might not be able to change _who_ he was but _why_ he acted. He could build a new dream, brick by brick—one where he eradicated the worst of Ketterdam, the dirty businessmen and untrustworthy politicians, the disloyal Barrel bosses and the merchers who could not be counted on to keep their word.  

 

One where he could think of Jordie and picture neither pigeon nor corpse. One where indenture, as Inej and Nina knew too well, wasn't another word for slavery. 

 

In Ketterdam, they claimed one’s word meant everything. He meant to ensure it.

 

With the property he'd purchased in the Lid, Kaz had set up a bastardized form of Jakob Hertzoon’s coffeeshop from all those years ago—only his business was registered, his deals legitimate. He'd named the business Queen, but the building itself he called Jordie’s, as a testament to what might have been.

 

Only, he thinks he might not have met Inej, in that other life, on that other path. He cannot discard her fate so easily when his thoughts linger there. 

 

Instead of market speculation, however, he handled investments, funding ideas or merchants too poor to supply themselves with starting capital. For merchants not rich enough to gamble on the Exchange, but heavy enough in pocket to invest alongside Kaz—the same breed on whom he’d funded the Crow Club—Kaz handled their investments—for a fee, of course—and given his ability to scheme hovels into moneymakers, he'd quickly begun to revitalize the rest of the Barrel as easily as he'd once done with the Crow Club. 

 

Once profits had begun pouring in, the wealthier merchants of Ketterdam—those rich enough to speculate most of their coin on the Exchange—had begun sniffing around, shifting their funds toward Kaz’s coffers and away from the temperamental mistress of market speculation and the merchant houses controlling her most heavily.

 

The Merchant Council had first sent the stadwatch, with orders to investigate the Queen for signs of illegal activity. Kaz had welcomed them with open arms—and quietly disarmed the guard one merchant had bribed to plant false evidence during their “search.” 

 

It was rather hard to do one’s job with a shattered hand and broken collarbone. 

 

Then came the letters, reminding Mister Brekker of the benefits of formally joining one of the many merchant guilds—and subjecting himself to their, and the Merchant Council’s, more stringent regulation.

 

Now, he had Karl Dryden, offering the ear of the Merchant Council. Kaz wondered if they were desperate enough to offer him a seat yet—if not, he knew which lever to press. 

 

“The Merchant Council requests—that is, the council feels that those of—us, who bear responsibility for a certain portion of Ketterdam’s economic pros—perity must stand together.” Dryden clasped his hands together, straightening his posture. Kaz mused that he seemed more comfortable discussing business over flattery. Another reason, most likely, for the merchant’s timid nature. Socializing didn't come easily to him. “We would like to discuss a possible business venture with you, Mister Brekker. One from which we feel you will greatly benefit and a direction in which you might consider growing your business.”

 

So they'd come to the true reason for the invitation. The Merchant Council was unhappy to have a competing money lender in its midst, particularly when Kaz exclusively—and willingly—dealt with those they'd been happy to ignore. 

 

Kaz let Dryden sweat another few minutes. Best to hook him—and the council—thoroughly. “It's a shame,” he finally said, smile mocking, “that I've just begun a new business venture myself. I'll have to decline.”

 

He looked down at the papers on his desk, resuming reading the report on a possible investment opportunity from Ravka he'd been reading before Dryden arrival. When Dryden didn't leave, he ignored the man. 

 

“What is the business venture, if I may ask?”

 

Kaz waited another minute before meeting Dryden’s eager eyes. After all, if you wanted to thieve from a thief, who did you send? Kaz had plotted and planned, with his dream and his girl in mind, but Dirtyhands had still come to see the rough work done. 

  
  


***

 

Jesper and Wylan greeted Inej when she disembarked at Second Harbor. They nearly glowed, still flush in the throes of love. Jesper, in particular, looked healthier, as if he were more comfortable in his own skin. His training as a Fabrikator must have been going well. 

 

“Inej!” Jesper waved, nearly knocking the hat of a neighboring Fjerdan. As if she could have missed his booming call. The Fjerdan huffed, realigning the puffed-up fur, before stalking away, and Inej again thought of Nina, bound for Fjerda with Matthias’s body. 

 

_ May the Saints guide you, _ she prayed, as she had every day since Nina had left Ketterdam, eyes on the skyline, as if fate would reveal her friend on the next ship or shore. 

 

“What business?” she asked, grasping first Jesper, then Wylan, in a stiff hug. 

 

“It’s a surprise.” Jesper grinned recklessly.  _ Maybe not so unchanged, _ Inej rectified. Still, she smiled in return, invigorated by the distinct mix of salt spray air, jurda and spices, perfumes and waste, that simply said home. 

 

“Or Kaz threatened to cut out your tongue, if you couldn’t keep from wagging.” Wylan rolled his eyes. 

 

Jesper slugged Wylan on the shoulder. “Kaz trusts me. Besides, you're the one who lets me play with his fortune in the Exchange each week.”

 

“To my benefit.” Wylan took Jesper’s arm in his. Inej weaved in and out of the shadows at their side, slipping back into old habits with a discomforting ease. “You know Kaz trusts you. As much as he trusts anyone, I think. I certainly do.”

 

***

 

In the shadows at the corner of Jordie’s, Kaz watched half of his former crew stride through the doors. Wylan and Jesper were common enough sights; Wylan’s inventions had been his first investment, and once a week, Jesper insisted on bringing Kaz round the Crow Club or Slat—only for drinks, never to gamble—now that he no longer lived there. His former second had also taken to dropping by unexpectedly, offering business insight he'd gleaned from Wylan or speculating on one topic or another.

 

Each time, he told Jesper not to interrupt him. But he hadn't changed the locks, and for Jesper, who held one of the three copies of its key, that was apparently invitation enough. 

 

_ Changing the locks isn't a priority, _ Kaz had told himself. He'd need to replace Inej’s key as well, and he had no trust for the post, not with something that precious. 

 

There in the shadows, he absorbed his first view of Inej in seven months, a nightbloom soaking up her sunlight. He’d tracked every course of her ship through Specht and bribes, leveraging old debts when necessary to hear word. Of course, she'd written to him, sending letters in her bold, persuasive script, passionate descriptions of her conquests, a narrative of her tightrope walking at sea, wistful thoughts on those she'd freed and how they differed—or reflected—her. When he hadn't replied, her missives had turned more distant, reports on the number of slaves freed or slavers captured and killed, requests for information, updates on her status. 

 

When he hadn't known how to answer, how to open himself with her so close and so far, the letters had dwindled to a stop. And so, he'd plotted.

 

She looked well. Beautiful. Instead of coiling at her neck, her oil black hair roped down her back, tempting him to stroke his hands through it, to wrap it around his fist and leash himself to her, never let go. 

 

He didn't wear his gloves now. He hoped the concession would be a start. 

 

***

 

A knife and lay on the bed in the room Kaz has designated for her. He had not, however, yet designated to show up, either at the docks or below stairs, where merchers and Dregs alike mingled on the floor of Jordie’s. Jesper and Wylan both maintained guileless faces when she questioned the name, deferring her questions to Kaz and his impossible logic. 

 

Her pulse thrummed with anticipation as she stripped to her undergarments. Before donning the Suli silks, she stood in front of the mirror in the room’s back corner—so no one could enter her window with her unaware, another gift—tracing her fingers over the scars on her arms where Kaz had once bound towels against her skin. He had been so close then, his lips feather light on her skin. He'd been so far, an endless span of unwanted hands holding them back.

 

She felt the same now, with his touch imbued in every corner of the room. In the knife, with its crow-shaped handle and perfect weight and fit of expensive Suli silk, near identical to the ones her mother wore, except for the color, a brilliant, bold red.

 

In the wild geraniums, she saw from the corner of her eye, crowning the windowsill. 

 

Had she thought herself foolish before, unsure and questioning?  _ The heart is an arrow, _ she reminded herself,  _ and my aim is true.  _

 

***

 

When Kaz knocked on Inej’s door, his hands were bare. 

 

He wasn't sure what reception he'd receive, given the way they'd left things when she'd sailed from Ketterdam and the dismal state of their correspondence.  _ And who’s to blame for that? _ a voice inside whispered. 

 

The door opened before he could doubt himself further. 

 

“Kaz!” He gave himself a half-breath to absorb her presence, the glow of her skin, the warmth of her eyes. But no smile.

 

“Expecting someone else?” Her eyes narrowed, and he wished he had planned a better entrance—maybe seeing her first in private had been a mistake, with no one there to act as a buffer. 

 

“Given you asked me to come and then couldn't be bothered to see me until now, yes.”

 

Kaz flexed his hand against the head of his cane and swallowed the urge to defend himself, to say something cold and cruel and cutting. He'd hurt her. He could meet her halfway. “You're right. I should have been there when you arrived.”

 

He held out his hand, tilting his head at the staircase. “Can you help me?”

 

She smiled, and his breath, as always, caught in his chest. “Yes.”

 

***

 

“Miss Ghafa,” Naten Boreg raised his glass toward her, “you are a delight.”

 

The other members of the Merchant Council followed suit, sly grins and bejeweled hands belaying the lust in their eyes. For money or treasure, pleasure or hunger, Inej couldn't say. Despite their best efforts—and Kaz’s considerable scheming—greed ruled Ketterdam, not he or the Merchant Council. 

 

“You’re too generous,” Inej demurred. Greed bows to me, Kaz had once told her. But even he could not cheat the capricious god at his own tables. 

 

He'd not told her the full game, only enough to play her role. He'd baited the Merchant Council with an incoming shipment of Suli goods, with her the seller and him the buyer. Though he refused to engage in market speculation, he'd hinted to the council that his relationship with Inej would not be a one-time exchange and that any other merchants who wished the opportunity to woo his Suli contact in exchange for her luxury wares could do so, so long as they provided him with the expected finder's fee.  

 

And woo they had. All through dinner, the ruling merchants of Ketterdam had plied her with false flattery, praising her looks, her heritage, how  _ exotic _ she was. She had known them to be despicable, the sort of men who would visit the Menagerie or the House of the White Rose, then return home to their mistresses and wives, guileless in their false innocence. They would call themselves gentlemen, and the moment they spied weakness, call her whore, for daring, for defending, for striking them down.   

 

They treated her as if she were for sale, alongside the silks and spices she had promised, and Kaz had done nothing to discourage them, his eyes only flashing more and more darkly as the evening wore on. Even poor Wylan looked uncomfortable, tugging at his collar at each lascivious mark, as Jesper gripped his knife tighter and tighter, as if preparing to throw.

 

It was all too much. It was not enough. 

 

“Would you excuse me?” Inej pleaded, as they stood from the table and Karl Dryden called for after dinner drinks. “Too many days spent at sea. I’m disoriented still.”

 

Down the end of the corridor, Inej found a balcony, the doors cracked open from the breeze. Outside, stars blanketed the sky, their glow dimmer here than at sea. The alcoves shadows wrapped around her like an old friend, and she welcomed the comfort of slipping into the sights unseen. 

 

Here, no one could see her unless she wished. 

 

“That was quite the performance.” Kaz clapped slowly from behind her. Inej kept her back to him. 

 

“And you? Will you ever stop performing?” Her heart crept to her throat in the silence of his reply, an answer and condemnation all at once. She turned to face him. “What game are you playing, Kaz?”

 

“Vengeance, money, an empire: take your pick.” His lips twisted in that familiar slash. He'd hidden his hands in his pockets, she noted, and were it not for the pale skin of his face, near luminous in the moonlight, he could be a shadow himself. 

 

“An empire?” He raised his eyebrows, and she remembered his derision at Pekka Rollins’ desire to leave his mark on the world, Jan Van Eck’s obsession with legacy. 

 

“Don’t look so worried,” he rasped, as if reading her mind, then laughed as she flushed. “I’ve no urge to procreate.” 

 

Of course he wouldn't give her a clear answer; he never did. “I’m serious, Kaz. Why are we here? What business?” 

 

“I’m a businessman, Inej. What else would I be doing here?” His smile, she imagined, turned even more mocking. She nearly snarled at his evasiveness. 

 

“You’re a crow who hunts pigeons.” 

 

“Please, don’t insult the pigeons. They’re much smarter than these sheep.” Kaz outright laughed now, as if this were normal, as if this were one of their old heists, as if nothing, neither of them, had changed in the past year. 

 

“Why ask for my help?” Inej switched tactics. His face hardened, and regret, followed by anger, rose in her. “Why ask me to come ho— _ here _ —at all?

 

“I don’t answer to your Saints, Inej. I told you—stop looking for good in me. I will never be the better man.”

 

Inej had no answer. None worth saying aloud. She stormed past him, ready to be done with this evening and his plan. 

 

***

 

“Everything in place?” Kaz asked, unlocking the door to his study inside the Queen. Jesper followed, sprawling across his preferred, overstuffed eyesore of a seat. Wylan had escorted Inej back an hour earlier, despite his overture and near protest. Only when Wylan had pointed out the cost of the scene to his scheme had he relented.

 

Sometimes, he could only wonder at how Wylan’s father had discarded such a talentedly ruthless businessman.

 

“Wylan confirmed before he and Inej left.” Jesper tapped his fingers against the side of the chair. “Boreg, Visser, and de Sittar pounced as soon as Inej came back inside. After they smeared your reputation a bit, she agreed to meet with them and Wylan in the morning. Oh, and Dryden”—Jesper shook his head—“weaseled his way along. Rotten luck, that one.” 

 

“He’ll survive,” Kaz drawled. 

 

“And the rest of them?” Jesper grinned cheekily.  _ Wylan’s been good for him, _ Kaz thought, not for the first time, and something not quite like envy sat in his chest. He didn't bother with an answer. Opening his ledgers, he sent a pointed look at the door. 

 

When that didn't work—“Go home, Jesper. Try not to get waylaid on the way there.”

 

He waited five minutes, then ten, to make sure he was gone, listening for the Zemeni’s familiar gait on the cobblestones below. Sound carried up surprisingly well to his buffered corner of the Lid, a fact of which he took frequent advantage. Once he was sure he was alone, he looked expectantly at the window, counting out the seconds.

 

_ One, two, three . . .  _

 

Inej swung in to his windowsill, silently passing over the moon outside. She watched him, another ghost passing judgment, until he stood and began unbuttoning first his jacket, then his vest. 

 

“I shouldn't have asked you to come,” Kaz admitted, his old insecurities rising to the surface. As he wet the cloth at his nightstand and began washing himself, a familiar thought resurfaced: _ I will never be clean. _

 

He'd gone about this all wrong. He'd waited too long and progressed too little and for Inej, it would not be enough to stay. He could see that now. 

 

“I fight my own battles.” Inej leaned her head against the window frame. Her eyes traced his body, pupils swallowing them whole, and Kaz felt himself hardening under her stare. “And each man bears responsibility for his own actions.”

 

“Do you remember what you said to me, that night at the Menagerie?”

 

This time, Inej raised her eyebrows, and Kaz flushed at the reminder of his note. “I can help you,” she finally said. 

 

“It’s what I say to the merchants and tradesmen who invest here. No more, no less.” Inej smiled, the first true, full smile he’d seen since her return, and the breath caught in his chest. He never wanted her to stop, and with a child's eager hands, grabbed for more. “What are you thinking?”

 

Her expression turned wistful, and he nearly cursed, again a child whose own eagerness had destroyed a precious toy. Why had he asked that? Panic gripped him, as his old fears whispered that he could never make her happy, he was too broken for her. 

 

Inej answered, “Better terrible truths than kind lies.”

 

“Another Suli proverb?” 

 

She laughed, and his breath caught in his chest. He never wanted her to stop.   

 

He wanted so desperately for her to stay. 

 

***

 

“Very impressive,” Naten Boreg leered, his eyes distinctively  _ not _ on the crates brimming with Suli goods. 

 

Inej shifted, wrapping her silks tighter. She itched to hold her knife to this man’s throat, to tell him what she'd done to men who bartered and sold humans as easily as children discarded toys.  _ Children are better mannered, _ she thought. These were the kind of men who broke things simply because they could. 

 

“Impressive enough to buy?” she said instead, smiling aloofly at the gathered merchants.  _ Not too eager, _ she could hear her father's voice cautioning,  _ but confident in your worth. _ He'd not sell any Suli craftsmanship to men like these; again, she questioned her choices against her parents’ hopes for her. 

 

It was easier now to turn away such thoughts. She had her own path, separate from theirs. And still, she knew, thanks to Kaz, their love.

 

Boreg finished conferring with Visser, Dryden, and de Sittar. “We’ll need to discuss terms, of course, but I think we should be able to come to a agreement.” He paused, his face twisting into false remorse. “We, of course, would like to compensate for any concerns you may have for breaking your arrangement with Mister Brekker. We understand he can be rather . . . unforgiving.”

 

“Actually,” Inej smiled, and it was a terrifying thing, “I do have a suggestion in mind.”

 

She had told Kaz she could help him—before running away to heal herself. She wouldn't take that time back but here, now, she could uphold her promise—her heart's new aim. 

 

***

 

The next afternoon, Kaz watched with satisfaction as the stadwatch arrested Boreg, Dryden, Visser, and de Sittar, the list of charges not quite as impressive as those they'd racked up against Van Eck.  _ Still,  _ he thought, eyes flashing,  _ they'll do. _

 

He knows he ought to feel giddy, now that the job is done. Or satisfied, at the very least. He may not have been able to use the past few days to remind Inej of how well matched they are at any job, but now he can lay out his plan to her and tempt her back to Ketterdam with his grand plans for the forfeited properties of these particular men. Though the merchants were insisting the warehouse where they met Inej belonged to her, he knew what the paper trail shows: several months ago, the warehouses were purchased under a false company which traced back to accounts linked to each of the merchants, excluding Dryden. The men working at the warehouse last night and today all wore the merchants’ house colors, as did the crew which initially unloaded the crates from the dock. Should the stadwatch bother questioning the other participants from dinner—as both Inej and Wylan are happy to verify Kaz, not Inej, as the owner of the “stolen” Suli goods—they'll find the attendants’ memories unfortunately hazy due to the expensive, rare wine. 

 

They'll be fighting the charges for months—and unlikely to win. In the meantime, Kaz has leverage in place to buy the property deeds in the West Stave that the Merchant Council will soon claim forfeit from them. 

 

Approaching Inej and Wylan, Kaz resisted the urge to show any excitement, wary of showing his hand too early. “They'll be bankrupt,” he observed, nodding at the still-protesting merchants. Wylan only shook his head and slinked off toward Jesper at the opposite end of the docks, the pair of them moving to inspect the incoming ships with sudden, overt interest. Too honest, the pair of them.

 

Inej greeted him with an upturn of her lips, sly and shy at once. “And you’ll buy their forfeit properties for your next scheme?” 

 

Her eyes gleamed as she awaited his answer, his first instinct to punish Wylan, then Jesper, for revealing his plan—only a voice reasons that he told neither of them his true plans, so they couldn't be to blame. When Inej folds her arms over her chest, turning to face him fully, he supposes that he shouldn't be surprised she figured him out; she's always known him best of anyone. He only wondered what she's concluded, or if she'd guessed at what he intends with that information. 

 

“Why ask if you already know the answer?” His voice rasped over the question, fighting the urge to seek out his gloves.

 

“Did you ever ask what I did with my four million kruge?” He didn't understand the sudden change in subject—nor did he think she'd appreciate his first response: “Gave it away, most likely”—until she held out those very same property deeds to him. 

 

Without his plan—without him setting things in motion—she owned nearly all the buildings in West Stave. All the pleasure houses. He wondered how long ago  _ she'd _ begun plotting as admiration—and hope, which he’d long thought dead and drowned—unfurled within him.

 

“You schemed in my scheme.”

 

“And if I did?” She smiled at him, that bright, beaming turn of her lips which stole the breath right from his chest. He wanted that look directed at him everyday. 

 

He was beginning to think, if he played his cards right, she just might. 

 

“What business, Inej?” It's a welcome home and a question all at once, if only she’d answer the way he’d thought. The seconds between them took years; he didn't care that she’d thieved his gift, interrupting his plans, if only the outcome remained the same.

 

If only she stayed. 

 

“I will have them and you, Kaz Brekker.” She held out her hand and he, bare-handed, took it. “Together, we’ll change them all.”

  
  


***

**Author's Note:**

> **Credit for the phrase “that meant not changing who he was but why he acted” goes to Kerrigan Byrne’s _The Hunter_ , of which this line is a bastardized quotation. The quoted line: “You might not have to change who you are so much as why you do what you do.”


End file.
